


Passing Seasons

by Tibby



Category: Original Work
Genre: 19th Century, F/F, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Influenza, Loneliness, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 06:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18805492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tibby/pseuds/Tibby
Summary: Homesteading Woman/Female Neighbour. Early 19th century, Illinois.Patience is trying to hold her life together following the death of her husband. It's a difficult task for a lone woman and her child living on the prairie but she is determined not to accept any assistance.Her eccentric but kind-hearted neighbour, however, is equally determined to give her the help she needs.





	Passing Seasons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rina (rinadoll)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/gifts).



> I hope you like this, Rina! The story is set a little earlier and a little less west than I think you were looking for (just because Illinois settlers were a subject I had a little more information on), but the 19th century American homesteading aspect is intact and I really hope it works for you. I had such fun coming up with this, thank you for giving great prompts and making this history nerd very happy.

Winter

It was no later than three o’clock in the afternoon when Patience saw her tramp towards the house, but it was as dim as dusk out there. She didn’t know the woman’s name. They were neighbours, if folks living a mile or two apart could be called neighbours. Patience had spent most of her life in one town or another, so she wasn’t used to having neighbours who could throw a party or fell a tree or fight like the devil without you knowing a thing about it. Consequently, she didn’t know anything much about this woman, not even her name.

The snow was thick enough that the woman was wearing snowshoes. Behind her, she dragged a little sled loaded with firewood. She disappeared from Patience’s line of view and, after a pause, there came a knocking.

Patience took off her apron and patted down her dress before opening the door. She knew her hair was in a state. There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have dreamed of welcoming a visitor without looking just so (certainly not with – she rubbed her cuff hopelessly with her thumb – stained clothes). However, times were not what they had been. And visitors were not so frequent.

“Can I help you?”

“I was hoping I might be able to help you,” the woman said, brightly, “I thought you’d appreciate some extra kindling,” here she jerked a thumb towards the sled, “It’s looking to be a harsh winter and I felt like doing something neighbourly.”

Patience flushed a faint pink, but deep enough for the stranger to notice.

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” she continued quickly, “My name’s Newbold, Kitty Newbold. I know your name though, so you needn’t tell me. You’ll find word travels fast around here but don’t mind that because, at the end of the day, everyone’s looking out for each other. Here,” she paused for a second to unload her cargo at the cabin’s doorstep, “One cosy fireside, on the house.”

“Well, thank you, Mrs. Newbold,” said Patience, dutifully.

“It’s miss, actually. And Kitty for preference.”

Patience believed it would be proper to invite Miss Newbold in – and she would have done so if she hadn’t found an honest excuse. At that moment, however, from within the house, a piercing baby’s cry burst forth.

“You will excuse me,” said Patience, with an anxious glance away in the direction of the crib.

“Oh,” said Kitty, “Of course.”

But Patience could not have known that Kitty assented because she had closed the door immediately.

 

Spring

Miss Newbold visited the cabin regularly through the winter. She had never been asked. She always brought something – firewood, fruit cake, eggs, honey, fresh rabbit, oatmeal… Patience had started to notice her on other occasions too, sometimes crossing the prairie a fair distance from the house, gun slung over her shoulder, on her way to shoot rabbits or check her traps. Patience would screw her brow into a tight frown when she caught sight of her. She was trying to rid herself of this habit in case she started to do it when she met Miss Newbold face to face. Miss Newbold had been very kind to her, of course, but Patience couldn’t approve of the way she went out dressed in pants and boots.

Patience didn’t even particularly approve of the kindness. She disliked it and she certainly didn’t trust it. No one had paid her any notice when she’d been an ordinary wife. True, she’d barely settled before she’d become a widow, but she knew people. Everywhere they were the same. People knew that a woman was only as good as her husband (or her father if she were unmarried). Patience knew the way the world worked - and she approved, more or less. Only now she had neither a husband nor a father. It was just her and baby Joan.

The best they could do was keep out of other folks’ way.

 

Summer

Patience hadn’t been prepared for summer on the prairie. The grass vast and glistening like the ocean, stretching for miles to the dark lines of forest on the horizon. Every fleck of colour from a prairie wildflower a surprise and a joy.

She had arrived at the cusp of winter when the tall grass had been heavy with morning frost or else sodden. Her husband had begun to clear the land ready for farming when the soil was hard but as yet uncovered by snow. Then, in spring, she had begun to plant a few tentative seeds on the edge of their land. She and the baby had to eat; they couldn’t rely on the store cupboard forever. So all her thoughts had been on the seedlings - she didn’t notice the beauties growing all around her little allotted square of soil. Cabbage, lettuce and beets came first, then corn and beans. If she tended it carefully, her patch would provide all the vegetables they would need. Meat was another matter. The salt beef that her husband had stored away was getting low. She had heard, though, that some people went without meat altogether. She remembered reading an article in her father’s paper – some reverend or other in England talking about the virtue of abstaining from meat.

Miss Newbold continued to bring rabbit, and on one occasion several cuts of pork. Patience had taken to pretending to be out of the house when Miss Newbold called but the gifts would be left on the doorstep all the same. She suspected Miss Newbold knew she wasn’t really away.

 

One day, however, she was too busy in her garden to have heard the knocking on the door. Miss Newbold, instead of dropping her basket of eggs on the doorstep and taking her leave as she normally did, wandered around the side of the cabin to find Patience on her hands and knees, weeding her plot.

Patience hastily made to stand up but Miss Newbold held up a hand, signalling her to stay where she was. Instead, Miss Newbold joined her on the ground.

“May I?” she asked, pointing to a clump of dandelions.

Patience was mortified. Her arms were almost up to the elbow in dirt. She was flushed and sweating. Worst of all, with only herself and baby Joan in the house, she had lately taken to leaving her corset off when tending the garden. She felt she had exposed herself terribly. And there was nothing she could do to make it better. All she could do was accept it. All she could do was nod.  
They worked for an hour at the weeding, mostly in silence. It was more comfortable than Patience had expected. After a while, she was so engrossed in her work that it felt as easy as if she had been alone. Absently, she began to hum to herself. She was too busy to notice how Miss Newbold stopped to listen.

“That’s a fine tune,” said Miss Newbold, “What is it?”

Patience looked away with a show of embarrassment but she was surprised by how unselfconscious she actually felt.

“Just a song I remember from a dance a long time ago,” said Patience, “I’ve even forgotten the name of it now.”

Miss Newbold laughed. “It’s been so long since I’ve gone to any dances, I don’t reckon I could remember any of the songs. My social life’s been sorely lacking these past few years.”

“I used to love to dance.”

“Me too.”

Miss Newbold dragged up another weed and Patience took the opportunity to look at her. Tentatively, she asked, “How long have you been living here?”

“Five years this fall.”

“And you came here all on your own?”

“Oh no, I came with my brother’s family. Only he died years ago, and my sister-in-law didn’t want to stick around after that. She and the children left, and I… Well, I just sort of stayed.”

Patience nodded. She tried to find the right words to say.

“That was mighty brave of you,” she said at last.

Miss Newbold laughed again. “Don’t go flattering me!” she said, “I think you’ll find I’m not the only one holding my own around here.”

 

When Patience went indoors to see to the baby, she left Miss Newbold still working. When she came out again, bringing Miss Newbold a cup of tea, she found her surveying the stretch of land her husband had cleared.

“What’re you planning to grow?” Miss Newbold asked, slightly short of breath from her exertion but standing straight, with her hands planted on her hips.

Patience looked at her as though she had asked what she thought about gardening on the moon.

“I’m not planning on growing anything,” she said slowly, “I – I’ve set up my garden here, and I certainly hope this will give us enough to live on.”

“You’ll find corn’s best around these parts,” said Miss Newbold, looking directly at her, “I’ve some work to do on my own land right now but as soon as I’m done with it, I’ll come show you what you can do.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“You needn’t worry, it’s no problem for me.”

“I won’t be needing any help,” Patience said, “You’ve been very kind but I think it’s time I got on by myself.”

Miss Newbold returned a week later even so.

 

Fall

Towards the end of October, Patience got sick. She was thinking too hard, she told herself, dwelling too much inside herself. When she stopped her work and sat with Joan, and let her eyes rest on the dim moon in the window, she felt she could sense death. Death came in late fall. Last fall she had thought death would come for her but it had come for John. Now, as far as she could tell, she was living on borrowed time. Women like her didn’t live through childbirth when strong men like John were struck down by pneumonia and sickened and died. She had spent a year trying not to think about how she had outlived him. But now fall had come back around and she was sick of grieving, sick of herself, sick to her core.

Miss Newbold had little reason to come now that Patience was, outwardly at least, established. She still came though. Patience left the door on the latch for her. For some reason, however, Miss Newbold would not come straight in. She would knock dutifully and when Patience opened the door for her she would ask if she could enter.

Joan was in her crib, sound asleep. It was too late for visitors. Even so, there came a knocking on the door.

 

Miss Newbold, impatiently scuffing the doorstep, looked intensely agitated. “I-I don’t know why I came,” she stammered as soon as the door was opened for her. She was in such distress that at first she didn’t notice Patience’s drawn face and trembling hands, she didn’t even lift her head to look at her. As soon as she did, however, Patience’s condition was clear for her to see. She caught up both Patience’s hands in hers and looked, with wide, alarmed eyes, into her own.

“Come in,” Patience tried to say, but she’d barely opened her mouth when she was overcome by a faint.

When she came to, she was in her own bed. The sheets were pulled up under her chin and a cool hand was pressed against her forehead.

“I guess I know why I came now,” Miss Newbold said, smiling grimly. All her prior nervousness had left her and it had been replaced by her usual easy pragmatism. She moved her hand from Patience’s forehead to her cheek. “You’re running a fever, I reckon.”

Patience shook her head.

“I’m certain it’s nothing,” she lied.

“And I’m certain I’m not letting you alone until you can stand on your own two feet.”

Miss Newbold rose from the bedside and busied herself at the stove across the room. She stoked the fire to a perfect heat, then she began to cook up an invalid’s broth from whatever she could find in the cupboards. Patience watched her through heavy, fluttering eyelids. There was something very calming about watching a person who seemed to know what they were doing. She must have fallen asleep watching her because the next thing she knew, Miss Newbold was sitting at the bedside again. Seeing she was awake, the efficient Miss Newbold promptly went off to pour her a bowl of broth. She returned in seconds.

“Here,” she said, gently, lifting a spoon to Patience’s lips, “Drink this.”

Patience sipped obediently. After a few spoonfuls, though, she began to feel heavy and drowsy again. She leaned back. Miss Newbold knew it was time to let her sleep. With nothing practical to do, she became agitated once more.

“I should stay,” she said, only to quickly add, “I should stay, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes,” Patience agreed.

Miss Newbold readjusted herself in the old shaker chair. She didn’t look very comfortable, Patience thought.

After a while, Patience, still drowsing on the edge of sleep, said, “You can lie down next to me. If you want.”

Miss Newbold didn’t move, except to shift uncomfortably in the chair.

Patience persisted, too tired and sick and alone to be shy anymore: “I miss having someone to lie with. If you’d like to, I’d like you to lie down with me.”

Wordlessly, slowly, as though Patience may change her mind at any moment, Miss Newbold sat next to her on the bed. She laid herself down gently, on top of the sheets, keeping her body stock-still once it came to rest. 

Patience looked into Miss Newbold’s eyes. Maybe it was the fever making her light headed, but they were very pretty brown eyes. She wanted to say something but her mind was woolly. She was looking for the words.

“Thank you, Kitty,” she said at last.

Kitty was sure it was the fever talking, but nonetheless she was as happy to hear her own name as she’d ever been.


End file.
